“It’s not a very old one, either,” said Bob.  “Now what do you make of that?”

Elliott had been spying about him.

“There’s another just like it over on the hill,” said he.  “I should call it the stakes of a mining claim.  There ought to be a notice somewhere.”

They looked about and soon came across the notice in question.  It was made out in the name of a man neither Bob nor Elliott had ever heard of before.

“I suppose that’s his ledge,” remarked Elliott, kicking a little outcrop, “but it looks like mighty slim mining to me!”

They proceeded with their estimating.  In due time they came upon another mining claim, and then a third.

“This is getting funny!” remarked Elliott.  “Looks as though somebody expected to make a strike for fair.  More timber than mineral here, I should say.”

“That’s it!” cried Bob, slapping his leg; “I’d just about forgotten!  This must be what Baker was talking about one evening over at camp.  He had some scheme for getting some timber and water rights somewhere under the mineral act.  I didn’t pay so very much attention to it at the time, and it had slipped my mind.  But this must be it!”

“Do you mean to say that any man was going to take this beautiful timber away from us on that kind of a technicality?”

“I believe that’s just what he did.”

Two days later Elliott straightened his back after a squint through the compass sights to exclaim: 

“I wish we had a dog!”

“Why?” laughed Bob.  “Can’t you eat your share?”

“I’ve a feeling that somebody’s hanging around these woods; I’ve had it ever since we got here.  And just now while I was looking through the sights I thought I saw something—­you know how the sights will concentrate your gaze.”

“It’s these big woods,” said Bob; “I’ve had the same hunch before.  Besides, you can easily look for tracks along your line of sights.”

They did so, but found nothing.

“But among these rocks a man needn’t leave any tracks if he didn’t want to,” Elliott pointed out.

“The bogy-man’s after you,” said Bob.

Elliott laughed.  Nevertheless, as the work progressed, from time to time he would freeze to an attitude of listening.

“It’s like feeling that there’s somebody else in a dark room with you,” he told Bob.

“You’ll end by giving me the willy-willies, too,” complained Bob.  “I’m beginning to feel the same way.  Quit it!”

By the end of the week it became necessary to go to town after more supplies.  Bob volunteered.  He saddled his riding horse and the pack animal, and set forth.  Following California John’s directions he traced the length of the river through the basin to the bald rock where the old trail was said to begin.  Here he anticipated some difficulty in picking up the trail, and more in following it.  To his surprise he ran immediately into a well-defined path.